


It's Not Just Talent That Blooms

by Jenstar



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Reunions, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24694171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenstar/pseuds/Jenstar
Summary: He’s taken this beaten path time and time again, knows the narrow streets weaving in and out of large, colorful buildings and hedge-framed alleyways, but he pulls out his phone anyway just to make sure he’s going in the right direction. Oikawa’s smirk only grows when he receives a one-worded text.Here.Or: Iwaizumi visits Oikawa in Argentina.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 9
Kudos: 123
Collections: My favorite haikyuu fics





	It's Not Just Talent That Blooms

**Author's Note:**

> My Argentinian ass went bonkers when I learned that Oikawa plays as a setter for Argentina, and so this little brain worm took over for a bit.

The bus rumbles through the cobblestones streets, and Oikawa finds himself staring out the window to watch the blur of buildings rush by, each a different color with charming illustrations of graffiti. He’s particularly focused on the people on the sidewalks, walking and running this way and that, each with a different goal, a different path. He wonders if the mother entering the bakery with her child notices the slightly mischievous but hopeful gleam in her son’s eyes as he gazes at the large array of _facturas_ and _dulce de leche churros_ and _alfajores_ displayed just past a pane of glossy glass.

The small sigh Oikawa lets out fogs the bus window, his boredom taking up space in his chest as he continues to exhale one breathy sigh after another. He’s en route to the core of the city to meet an old friend, and he’s feeling incredibly impatient. The bus finally arrives at his stop, and he can’t help the small knit in his brows and the smirk curling up on his face as he swings a bag over his shoulder and descends the bus steps, breathing in the air that hangs heavy in downtown Buenos Aires.

He’s taken this beaten path time and time again, knows the narrow streets weaving in and out of large, colorful buildings and hedge-framed alleyways, but he pulls out his phone anyway just to make sure he’s going in the right direction. Oikawa’s smirk only grows when he receives a one-worded text.

_Here._

If Oikawa picks up the pace of his strides, he pretends not to acknowledge it. He rounds one more corner, and he finally sees his destination. Fields and fields and fields of grass stretch out in front of him, some heavily jungled by trees and others open and full of children playing soccer. There are wooden tables situated at random in the grass illuminated by a curtain of sunlight, and Oikawa’s stomach rumbles at the smell of smoked beef in the air.

Oikawa spots him after only a minute or two, all spiked, dark brown hair with eyes to match. Oikawa wants to laugh at his expression, the furrowed brows and perpetual frown creating an air of remarkable seriousness that clashes with the warmth of the city, but Oikawa knows better, especially when he notices that serious expression soften when his old friend registers him approaching.

“Iwa-chan! I knew you couldn’t stay away from me for too long. You really missed me, huh?” Oikawa gives Iwaizumi a hard smack on his back, and he’s rewarded with a pointed glare and an eyeroll.

“You’re still as obnoxious as ever. Do you really still have to call me that?” he answers, and Oikawa hopes his face doesn’t display the warmth blooming in his chest.

“Aw, come on! It’s okay to admit you missed me, why else would you be visiting me all the way in Argentina?”

“You said you’d let me watch you and your team practice,” Iwaizumi glances around the park and sighs, “but I should have known you would drag me around first.” His attention turns to the bag draped over Oikawa’s shoulder. “What’s in there?”

“It’s a surprise, you’ll see.” Oikawa gives him a painfully sweet smile, the edges all honeyed and saccharine. Iwaizumi doesn’t even flinch.

“I swear if it’s full of autographed pictures--”

“Why, do you want one?”

Iwaizumi glares at him, “You’re such a dumbass.”

“I promise I’ll give you one later. Now come on, I’m starving.”

Oikawa leads him down a dirt trail that spirals and curls around the park, cutting through a few empty fields and thickets of trees until they reach a large pavilion enveloped in smoke. It’s fairly packed, people sprawled out on blankets in the grass and hunched over tables with plates full of meat. Underneath the pavilion, several cooks are barbecuing different cuts of beef scattered along a metal grate with coal fire stoking underneath. On the other side of the makeshift pit framed by piles of bricks, beef ribs are skewered onto cross-shaped asadors, and the aroma in the air swirling in tandem with the sizzling meat means they’ve been cooking for hours. The warmth in Oikawa’s chest swells at the sight of Iwaizumi, his eyes less narrowed and his expression less tight, a small wave of gratitude softening his edges.

“Iwa-chan, I’ll buy us some plates while you go find us a place to sit, yeah?” Iwaizumi just sighs before walking off in search of some free space.

Oikawa makes sure to stack their plates high, the selection ranging from ribeyes to filets to chorizos to ribs. He makes sure to pay a little extra for two sides of chimichurri. He hurries over to the table Iwaizumi was miraculously able to find, and he laughs at the two beers perched on the wooden surface that Iwaizumi was also, somehow, able to find.

“I see you’re still as cool as ever. Where did you find the beer?” Oikawa sets the plates on the table and plops down in his seat across from Iwaizumi.

“You dumbass, there’s literally a stand right there.”

“I see _dumbass_ is still the only insult you can come up with,” Oikawa smirks, and Iwaizumi bristles for a moment before rolling his eyes again.

It’s quiet for several minutes as the two of them work on their plates, the only sounds coming from the chirping of birdsong, the chatter of the park goers, and the occasional yelp and laugh of a child.

Oikawa breaks the silence. “How do you like your first Sunday _asado?_ ”

“You know, you don’t have to put so much gusto into your Spanish,” Iwaizumi teases and Oiwaka playfully sticks his tongue, “and it’s actually really good, but I attribute that to the actual culture instead of you.”

“Ugh, can’t you just thank me?” They both laugh, and their mirth hangs in the air alongside the aroma of beef and the smell of grass. They're silent once again, but it’s comfortable like it’s always been, like it always will be, and Oikawa knows Iwaizumi doesn’t mind when his gaze travels just behind his ear to watch the children kick around a soccer ball. Oikawa rests his chin in his palm, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Now there’s a rare smile without an ulterior motive.” Iwaizumi’s voice grabs his attention, and Oikawa wonders if he blushed the last time his old friend mentioned something similar.

“Excuse me, but my smiles are always straightforward and pure.”

“Now you sound completely impure.”

They laugh alongside each other once more, and while Iwaizumi gets up to throw out their empty plates, Oikawa rummages through his bag and pulls out a large cup, a metal straw, a thermos, and a bag of tea leaves. Iwaizumi returns to his seat with a raised brow.

“The surprise is tea?”

“Not just any tea,” Oikawa says as he fills the cup with leaves and pours hot water over the surface, “it’s _yerba mate_ , and I think you’ll actually like it. We don’t have to add sugar so it can stay a little bitter, just like you.” Oikawa punctuates this with a wink.

“There you go with the over zealous Spanish, can’t you be normal?” There’s no bite to Iwaizumi’s words, but Oikawa decides not to mention it as he stuffs the straw into the damp tea and takes a sip.

He burns his tongue every time, but Oikawa refuses to falter under Iwaizumi’s watchful eye. He passes over the cup, and smiles when Iwaizumi’s brows shoot up in surprise a moment after his lips meet the straw. They make eye contact for the tiniest of moments before Oikawa looks away first.

“Did you burn your tongue?”

“No,” Iwaizumi answers, “I’m way more careful than you.”

A beat passes, and then another comfortable silence falls around them as they pass the mate back and forth. Suddenly Oikawa is a little nervous at the fondness hovering at the corners of Iwaizumi’s eyes. 

“You don’t seem like such a troublesome guy anymore.”

Oikawa doesn’t know how to react to that at first, but then he just laughs and smacks the table.

“Am I hearing you right, Iwa-chan? Are you giving me a compliment? Let me take a picture to capture this momentous moment.”

“I’m just saying,” Iwaizumi grits through his teeth, “you seem a little happier since the last time I saw you.”

At this point, Oikawa is very aware of the flush of champagne pink that blooms on the peaks of his cheeks.

“Aw, are you worried about me?” He keeps his voice as sing-song and as playful as possible.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Iwaizumi asks, and Oikawa is left a little speechless. “What’s changed?”

Oikawa sighs before answering, “I played with a certain red-headed shrimp, and he reminded me of the importance of connecting and remembering the basics.” He looks up towards the sky and watches the burnt sienna of sunset bleed into the daytime blue. “He made me remember an old saying about talent.”

Iwaizumi acknowledges him with a hum as he takes the final sip of their mate. He makes sure to make direct eye contact with Oikawa before speaking once again.

“I’m glad to see you still moving forward. I still stand by what I said about being proud of you.”

“Who knew all it took was a couple of ribs and a beer to soften you up?” Iwaizumi kicks him in the shin, and Oikawa pretends that it hurts more than it does before he packs away the thermos, the cup, and the tea. “We should get going, the park closes when the sun sets. Plus, I wanna grab some _empanadas_ for the bus ride.”

“We literally just ate.”

“And? I’m a growing boy!”

They walk along the trail again, winding down the path until they reach the entrance. A stray soccer ball flies towards Oikawa’s face, but Iwaizumi slaps it away before it makes contact.

A couple of children run towards the duo with large grins and equally bright laughs.

“Eso estuvo genial,” one of them says.

“El es un tipo genial,” Oikawa answers before returning the ball. They skitter away laughing, turning back to give the pair a wave.

“What did he say?”

“He said you were weird and scary, and I agreed.”

“I was wrong, you’re still a shitty guy. Shittykawa.”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger!” Oikawa wraps his hand around Iwaizumi’s wrist and tugs him towards the heart of the city. “Come on, I want some _empanadas!_ ”

“Just speak Spanish normally!” There’s the smallest ghost of a laugh that hovers over Iwaizumi’s yelling, and Oikawa tries not to think about it too hard as he drags his friend along cobblestone paths and narrow alleys with green hedges glimmering under the moonlight.

**Author's Note:**

> The kid says something along the lines of, "That was cool!" and Oikawa's answer is, "He's a cool guy."
> 
> Talk to me about hq! on twitter: @jenstarlol


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